The day following that which we have described there was a great annual fete at Dantzic.  The free city for the time donned its freest and most joyous manners; it was one of those days in which honest burghers, and most especially honest burghermasters, delight, because they are then enabled to put on their greatness with their broadcloths; and every flag and inscription in the streets is a tribute to their past, and an incentive to their renewed exertions.  Fortunately the day rose in more than ordinary brightness; the Mottlaw and the Radaw, two streams which flow through the center of Dantzic, reflected the variegated masses of colors worn by those who thronged their banks; Commerce had for that day deserted the lofty mart and still loftier warehouse to muse by the side of the river which bore her richest freights; processions from the neighboring villages marched with music at their head into the city, bearing the devices of their various trades, and when the crowd separated to let them pass, the captains of companies and humbler officials drew themselves up as they traversed the rude, ill-fashioned pavement of the picturesque and antique gabled city.  It was the fete of the patron saints of the town,—­strange evidence of a future state, even among those who reflect but little; for there as ever all men turn alike to some mysterious guardian for protection, and like this city are consecrated to some faith.  In the midst of these happy groups, which were collected at every corner and filled every gasthof, moved Dumiger and Marguerite, most blessed and happy where all looked smiling and contented.  Marguerite was the envy of all brides, and of those who wished to become so; and there was not a young burgher of distinction who had not at some time or another looked upon her with admiring gaze, and followed her to the palace in which she dwelt, and loitered under her window,—­where, however, the thin slight curtain was rarely if ever drawn aside to satisfy the vanity of the gazer or to kindle her own.  She was of a very admirable beauty, as perfect as is commonly found in nature, which fancy can at will outwork,—­tall, of excellent symmetry, with a clear, noble brow, the proudest type of Nature’s glory.  There were few in town who did not know her at all events, from reputation, and that reputation was spotless.  Of Dumiger’s appearance we cannot say as much:  he would have been decidedly plain but for the indications of genius which his countenance afforded.  His forehead was marked with the lines of patient and anxious thought; but these evidences, if they did not serve to please the gazer, at least commanded his respect.  He was somewhat bent by premature exertion; the hair, even at that early age, was thin and scanty on the temples; his step was slightly enfeebled by want of proper exercise.  Altogether he was a very remarkable man from the intellectual power which every lineament expressed; yet altogether he was scarcely such a person as would have been considered likely to awaken a strong passion in a young girl like Marguerite.  For it is too true that, to use the expression of a writer of that age, il avait l’air d’un ame qui avait recontre par hasard un corps et qui s’en tirait comme il pouvait.